


The Idea of Me

by ThirdGenerationRockette



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: 1.08, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdGenerationRockette/pseuds/ThirdGenerationRockette
Summary: In the darkness of the corner booth, she almost manages to kid herself nobody knows she's here, despite the rest of the team sitting across the other side of the bar.





	The Idea of Me

In the darkness of the corner booth, she almost manages to kid herself nobody knows she's here, despite the rest of the team sitting across the other side of the bar. She probably should have gone home right after the show, given how shitty the day has been (or really every day since Brian showed up with his little fucking notepad and desperate need to taunt her at every possible opportunity), but she needed a drink, and even though she hates to admit it, she needed even more to not be alone at home with her thoughts. At least here she can be alone without _actually_ being alone, she can drink but she won't finish an entire bottle and wake up on the couch at four in the morning wondering what the hell happened. Downing the last of her drink, the burn of the whiskey offering a strange comfort, she sets it down on the table in front of her, watching as a slow trickle of liquid runs down the outside of the glass.

“Hey.” Will's unmistakable voice startles her and she turns to see him sliding onto the seat beside her.

“Hey.” She's in no mood to deal with him, he's essentially the reason the last couple of weeks have been so torturous, and she doesn't trust herself to keep her composure when what she'd like to do is yell at him. “I was actually just leaving, so-”

“Stay.” He stops her, his hand on her arm, warm and annoyingly soothing. “Just...I know you're mad at me right now, but just come over and have a drink with the rest of the team. You don't have to talk to me, you can pretend I'm not even here.”

“Or you could just leave and I wouldn't have to pretend,” she says, her tone clipped, angry.

“Alright, fine, stay here in your corner of misery.” He sighs and stands up, and suddenly she's angry that he's not even willing to stay and fight.

“I'm not mad at you,” she says, sighing as the look on his face suggests he knows that's not even a tiny bit true. “I mean, I _am_ mad at you, but I'm mostly...confused, I guess, and just...tired of it all, of the ever growing list of ideas you manage to come up with to punish me.”

“Why do you think everything I do is purely for the purpose of punishing you?” He narrows his eyes and she looks away, his gaze too piercing to deal with. “Maybe Brian was the best choice for the story, the best writer. I could be wrong, but I'm guessing this is about me bringing him in, I-”

“You're _guessing_? Don't act dumb, Will, you're not very convincing.” She's furious all over again. She knows there's a lot about her relationship with Brian that he's unaware of, but he's not blind, he must be able to see how uncomfortable having him around the office is making her, yet here he is, still trying to defend his decision. “And don't give me your 'maybe he's the best choice' bullshit. You know as well as I do there are dozens of writers better than him, and there are certainly dozens who could have brought the impartiality that this story needs. But I don't suppose that would meet your very clear 'hate Mackenzie, punish her accordingly' criteria, would it?”

“I don't _hate_ you, Mackenzie.” His tone is the same as it always is when he insists he doesn't hate her, weary, like he genuinely has no idea where her accusation is coming from.

“Whatever. I don't even understand what we're fighting about anymore.” She knows this is pointless and she's done, she just wants to go home, take a damn pill, and try to get some sleep. “I'm going home.”

“I didn't even know we _were_ fighting.” He sighs and throws his hands up in frustration as he watches her slide her phone into her bag. “Fine, go home, I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Actually, no, there is something I'm curious about.” She looks up at him, watching as he realises she's waiting for him to sit back down before she goes on. “I can't help wondering if you...did you ever love me? I mean, at all, or was it all just some kind of fantasy for you?”

“Fantasy?” He frowns and she sits back, folding her arms tightly in front of her. “Mackenzie, what the-”

“It's not such a difficult question, surely?” She sighs and schools her tone into something calmer, less combative. “All this time, I was so angry at myself for what I did...fuck, I still am, and then I was just sitting here thinking about why I put myself through this, showing up every morning when, quite honestly, I'm sure _you'd_ prefer I didn't bother, and I suddenly started to wonder if you were ever really in love with me at all, and that if you weren't then maybe it would be easier to just...oh, I don't know. Fuck it, I need to go home.”

“Look...” He stops and appears to consider whatever he was about to say, but she bites her lip and refuses to let him off the hook. “I don't know how much you've had to drink while you've been hiding in this corner, but-”

“Oh, fuck you.” She snaps, irritated that he would dare to try and brush this off as some kind of drunken rambling. “I've had a couple of drinks, but I'm perfectly lucid, thank you very much. I'm serious, I can't help thinking now that maybe what you loved was the idea of me, rather than the real thing.”

“The _idea_ of you?” He shakes his head. “I don't have any fucking clue what that means.”

“Oh, give me a break, you know exactly what I mean. When we met I was young, enthusiastic, accomplished at my job, not entirely horrific to look at,” she says, pausing, wondering whether she should just stop talking and walk out like she was planning to a few minutes ago. “Maybe you liked the idea of that whole package, and that was it, nothing more, just-”

“You, Mackenzie...” He shifts closer and she feels his breath on her cheek, warm with a faint tinge of whiskey, his voice low as he continues. “I told you I loved you every damn day when we were together, and you're sitting here asking if I was in love with the _idea_ of you? You're the only woman I have ever loved and you fucking know it.”

“Okay,” she says, wondering why she even asked if all she was going to do was somehow make herself feel even worse.

“Okay?” He looks at her, eyes wide in confusion, with just a hint of anger behind them.

“Yeah, it was a stupid question, point taken, it really doesn't matter now anyway, does it?” She grabs her bag and pushes at his arm. “Let me out, I'm going home.”

“You accuse me of never having loved you and now what? You're just going to walk out of here like everything's fine?” He doesn't move, and his eyes are fixed firmly on hers.

“Everything isn't fine, it hasn't been fine since the day I got here, and I'm starting to think it never will be. And I'm not going to walk out of here at all unless you fucking move,” she says, shoving at his shoulder again, to no avail. “If you think I won't climb the hell over you to get out of here then you're so, so wrong. I swear to God, Will, just...”

She stops because he suddenly stands up and moves aside to let her out, and for a few confused seconds she does nothing, staying where she is because she was convinced she was in for much more of a battle than that.

“I'll see you in the morning.” Shaking herself out of her fog, she stands up, straightens her skirt, and pulls her shoulders back as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

She focuses hard on not looking at him, instead tightening her grip on her bag and starting towards the door, determined not to look back, her eyes firmly on the exit ahead of her. He reaches her before she reaches the door, and she's not sure if she's surprised he followed her or if she would have been surprised if he _hadn't_. His hand is on her shoulder and he pushes her back against the wall, gently but firmly enough that it ignites something in her; a burning irritation alongside a tingle of excitement she knows is ridiculous.

“Is that what you really think?” He slides his hand over her shoulder and slowly down her arm, squeezing softly. “Do you honestly believe I never loved you?”

“I don't...I really don't know what to think,” she says, biting her lip and feeling suddenly completely stupid as she remembers their time together and the way he used to look at her, the undeniable way someone looks at the person they love. “I just-”

“I'm sorry,” he says, quickly, and she's confused, unsure of what exactly he's apologising for. “For bringing Brian in to do the story, I know that was...shitty, but I...”

“You...but what?” She has no idea what he's trying to say, or if he even knows himself. “ _What_?”

“I'm trying.” He sighs and leans closer, his voice dropping lower. “I don't want to do what I'm doing. To you, I mean, I hate that I...here's the thing, I'm mostly fucking it up, I know, but I'm trying, I'm seeing my damn therapist, and I'm...”

“You're _trying_. I get it.” She finishes his sentence and manages a smile, because she realises, maybe for the first time, that he actually is trying. Trying to forgive her, trying to treat her better, trying to let go of his fury. “Well...that's good, I guess. I'm glad.”

“Brian...the story, he's almost done, can you...” He pauses and she watches as a hint of a smile creeps onto his lips. “Can you handle things until he's done?”

“Like I told you, I can handle anything,” she says, triumphantly. “Well... _almost_ anything. I wish you'd tried a little harder when the urge hit you to have Brian do the story, but yeah, I can handle him being around a little longer. For the good of the show and all.”

“Alright,” he says, nodding slowly, his gaze flicking briefly to her lips and sending a flush to her cheeks.

“I'll see you in the morning.” She presses her hand to his chest and he steps back so she can once again head for the door.

“Mac...” His voice stops her and the inscrutable tone makes her turn back. “I've loved you since the day I met you, that's never going to change, but I can't just...there's so much I need to deal with, and it's...I'm-”

“You're trying, I know.” She feels a tiny spark of hope flicker in her chest, and she takes a chance, steps forward, and squeezes his hand before she turns away again. “Goodnight, Billy.”


End file.
